


New World Symphony

by Reynier



Category: Lymond Chronicles - Dorothy Dunnett
Genre: AU Joleta survives, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Friendship!!! Joleta gets a friend!!!, Gen, Original Character(s), POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24495373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reynier/pseuds/Reynier
Summary: Joleta survives.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8
Collections: ScotSwap





	New World Symphony

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyyy this was written for ScotSwap 2020 for Kay (stripedroseandsketchpads), whom I don't believe has an AO3 account. Kay I love you to the ends of the earth here is your Joleta content i really hope you like it <3 <3 <3

1.

“What are you running from?” 

The young woman with the sunset-coloured hair raised one polite, manicured eyebrow and fixed Jessum with a sugary smile. “I’m not running from anything in particular. Are you chasing something?”

The way the late afternoon light glinted on her earrings and lips told him he very well could be. He finished stacking that day’s papers on the shop desk and then leant forward, his elbows tucked under him. “A ship out of here, that’s what you want?”

“That’s what I want,” she agreed, her eyes wide.

“I can arrange that. Where do you want to go?”

Her teeth caught on her upper lip. “Away. Over the ocean. The Americas, perhaps. Have you been to the Americas, Mister…?”

“Jessum. Can’t say I have. I doubt I’d come back if I got all the way there. They say there are no rainstorms in Virginia, you know.”

“That’s stupid,” she snapped. Then the reins pulled back, and the smile clicked onto her face once more. “I’m sure that’s not true, Mister Jessum. Everywhere has rainstorms. You just have to find a way to weather them.”

Her hand was very near his. He wanted to grab her, to kiss her, but her stare transfixed him where he stood. “A sterling for passage,” he managed to say. 

“What a pity. I don’t have a sterling.”

“Ah.” His breath caught. It was the end of his shift anyway. No one would miss one ticket. “Well, I’m sure you can find some other way of paying.”

The light through the window glinted red in her eyes. “Ticket first,” she said, “then payment.”

His breath quickening, Jessum scribbled out a receipt of passage on the nearest bit of paper, signed it, and handed it to her. “Ship leaves at dawn tomorrow from this port. Can’t be late.”

“Perfect,” she said. “Thanks, Mister Jessum.” A quick smile flashed across her face. Then, very carefully, she picked up the little porcelain dish on the counter and, equally carefully, let it fall to the floor and shatter. Jessum stared at her, his mouth and eyes wide. He wanted to say something, wanted to protest, ask her what she thought she was doing, but all he could do was watch as she picked the largest shard from the mess and ran a finger along one edge. A drop of blood bloomed on her skin. Then she looked up at him, her brow furrowed childishly and disgust on her lips. “I hate you.”

After that, events happened too fast for Jessum to think much of anything. 

2.

Annalise met Giustina on the deck of a sailing ship, when nothing in the world was quite as real as it should have been. She was young, she was Piemtonese-- although her accent, mostly masked, sounded more salentino than anything else-- and she had a particular way of smiling like it was a fascinating thing to do. She spent every day sitting with her little leather-bound book on the corner of the deck designated for passengers who were willing to brave the spitting sea and uncertain weather. 

“What are you reading?” asked Annalise on the fourth day of the voyage. She had made note of Giustina before, but had never dared approach her. Something in the angles of her face was intimidating.

Giustina blinked up at her, grey eyes wide. “The Bible,” she said. It was an obvious lie. The book was much too thin for that.

So Annalise let her be, at first. But every morning when she took her determined promenade along the deck, Giustina was there, sitting with her little book on her little stool with her little smile and big eyes. Annalise didn’t dare approach her for another week. Then the boredom crept in. She wasn’t prone to seasickness, which was a blessing, but the other girls sent to the New World under the auspices of King Francis were not so fortunate, and spent most of the day moaning and groaning. They were leaderless and helpless, with no instructions save the writ of passage in their bags and the vague promise of a husband somewhere at the end of the journey. There was no one to tell Annalise what to do. So she found herself aimlessly wandering the deck, trying to stay out of the way of the sailors. 

And that meant she watched Giustina. She hoped the other girl didn’t realise it, but the quirk of her mouth indicated she probably did. At the dawn of the third week of travel, when Annalise was making her daily round of the aft deck, Giustina finally lifted her eyes from the pages of her little book, raised an eyebrow at her, and beckoned her over. 

The first thing she said was, “You’ve been watching me.”

“I’m sorry,” stammered Annalise. There was no point in denying it. There was little else to watch on the deck of a ship crossing the endless, bland-waved Atlantic. This girl, at least, was a mystery. 

“It’s alright,” she said. “I’m Giustina Malvezzi. And you are…?”

“Annalise.” King Francis had not deigned to give them last names, just signed their travel orders and sent them off as a show of philanthropy. “I’m from Paris.”

“Yes,” said Giustina, with some amusement, “I’ve seen you and all your little friends. They’re very sick. It’s gross.”

“Ah.” Annalise was not sure how to respond to this. “Why are you heading to Quebec?”

“Oh! Is that where we’re going? I knew someone would tell me eventually.”

This statement was so incongruous to everything about Giustina-- her beautifully embroidered satin gown, her gracefully lilting accent in French, the supercilious lines of her eyebrows-- that Annalise did not know what to say. She opted to ignore it in case there was some curious social norm at play that she was too poor to understand. “May I sit next to you?”

Giustina waved a hand vaguely at the planks next to her stool. “Be my guest. I have so many resources for hospitality at my disposal. Would you like some tea, madam?”

“What are you reading?” Annalise asked, for the second time, in a desperate attempt not to say the wrong thing to this bewildering young woman. 

Pages lifted gently in the breeze. Giustina gave her a long, measuring look, then huffed and handed the book to her. Annalise took it. 

“ _Les lais de Marie_ ,” she read, and blinked. “Romantic poems?”

“Well, what of it?” snapped Giustina, holding out her hand to retrieve the book. “It’s the only one I have.”

Annalise let out a breath of laughter. “You told me you were reading the Bible.”

The smile Giustina gave her in return was saccharine. “I lied,” she said. 

3.

“A livre a week,” said Madame Moullinier to the two young women standing before her. They were an odd pair: one with the clothes of someone who should have been travelling in a retinue, but with fraying hems and inconspicuous grease stains; the other dressed in the plain but neat dress of an _orpheline._ Both of them standing there, shoulder to shoulder, ignoring the hustle of the port around them. 

“Done,” said the one with golden-red hair. “Will you take us there now?”

She would. She did, leading them through the quiet streets of Quebec and up the rickety staircase to the room in the attic. “Keep it clean,” she instructed. “No men. No ale. Water your wine, I won’t be having a racket up here.”

“You won’t have a problem,” murmured the one with better French. The younger, by a year or two at least. “Thank you for the room, Madame.”

Her anxious eyes softened Madame Moullinier slightly. “Well, I’m glad to have two nice young girls here instead of one of the men from the docks. Are you travelling to marry, dears?”

“That’s somewhere down the line,” said the elder, airly. “But you know, life is so uncertain in the colonies.”

Life was definitely uncertain in the colonies. Madame Moullinier had never expected to marry a tailor from across the ocean and watch streets spring up in the lands where she had been born. Strange things happened. Bad things, mostly, but some good things. She hoped these two young women were good things. “Well, if you need help, you can come to me,” she said, couching the words in her usual grumpy tone. “I’ll leave you to your peace now. Have a good evening. Ahh… rent?”

The redhead passed her a coin silently. She tucked it away, smiled at them once more, and left. 

4\. 

“I’m glad I met you,” said Annalise later that evening. “I don’t know what I would have done without you. I couldn’t afford a room myself.”

“I know that,” Giustina said stuffily, not looking her in the eye. Her nails, once so immaculately polished but now long and scuffed, scratched mindlessly at the cover of her book of _Lais._ “But we’ve got to stick together now. I’ll look after you.”

Annalise smiled, letting her eyes take in the narrow wooden room. It felt so different. It felt like another world. It was. “Friends.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Giustina stiffen. Then her shoulders eased down and a small, very private smile flickered across her face. All of a sudden she looked younger than her years. “Friends,” she repeated. 

_And maybe_ , thought Annalise, as they prepared to spend their first night in the scratchy bed of a place they never expected to be, _maybe one day you’ll tell me your name._


End file.
